Hetalia Theory
by Grey Linings
Summary: Hetalia Theory says that each nation lived a human life under their human name. Their lives and their deaths explain many of their characteristics and their personalities, such as why Russia has such cruel and sadistic tendencies or why England can see hallucinations. I will warn you, some chapters later on may be unsettling. Rated T, but has drug use, rape reference and violence.
1. Arthur- Softly, Softly

**__****All of the characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and the theory was written by deviantart's SailerInfoerno12908, so credit for this sad, but wonderful, theory must be given to them.**

**__****The Hetalia Theory speculates that all of the countries once lived as humans, under their human names, and died at their age of something. Based on each nation's characteristics and personality, the cause of death and life differs for each.**

**__****Fi****r_st, I'll write about England who, in his human life as Arthur Kirkland, was a drug addict who died of an overdose of hallucinogenic drugs. This explains the 'imaginary friends' he sees as a nation._**

* * *

"Why does it have to be so bloody cold all the damn time?" Arthur murmured to himself, his voice slurred and broken.

It might have been the English air, heavy with crisp mist that bit at Arthur's exposed face. Or it might have been Arthur himself. His body was thin and frail, his cheekbones prominent and his cheeks sunken and sallow. He looked as though he would be blown over by the smallest wind.

He didn't care to venture out these days. Not for groceries. Not for new clothes. Not to repair the faucet that had been dripping for three months. Not for the drafty window, even though it was the one thing he couldn't stand. It whispered softly, softly in his ear. 'Arthur, oh Arthur. Come here.'

'Ha ha! Never! Damn your trickery!' He would screech, pointing at it accusingly. Arthur tended to talk not only to the window, but to himself as well. It comforted him. After all, he was oh-so-alone.

The only reason he was struggling through the cold, ice-glazed streets was to get more of the one thing he craved. Marc, who he was going to see, called it PSP, or angel dust if he was trying to advertise. As if he needed advertisement! Who wouldn't want beloved angel's dust?

Arthur liked to think of it as angel dust. Only the angels could bless us pitiful scum with such a sweet vision of heaven! Yes, yes! Heaven! He needed to see more… More! He was one step closer. Around the corner now. Into the ally, yes. Where monsters lurked behind boxes and in the dark corners, jumping out at him and trying to take him away.

"You won't take me away!" He muttered as he entered the ally. "You won't take me away… you won't take me... you won't take me… you won't take me…"

"Shit, Arthur. You sound like a damn broken record." Marc was there, his arms crossed. Dressed in that damn brown ratty hoody. You see, it attracted the demons. They were around him all the time. How could Marc not see them?

Arthur saw them.

"Bastard, you voice is fucking annoying." Was Arthur's response. "Like a thousand knives splitting me right down the middle."

"Like hell I care." Marc said. "Do you want your stuff or not?"

"Of-of course I do! That's what I'm here for. Give it to me!" Arthur's hands reached out and grabbed at Marc's arms, yanking at the jacket.

"What are you doing, you bastard?" Marc tried to shove him off.

"Can't you see them? They're all over you! The demons!" Arthur looked frantic and he grasped at the empty air around Marc. "They'll take you away! You can't leave me. No no no no no no."

"Fuck, man, you look like shit. I've dealt to a lot of fucked up people, but you're prob'ly the worst. I mean, look atcha. You're so damn pale."

"Being pale is a sign of royalty you know! Can't you see my crown? It's so pretty and gold!"

"Just give me your money and take this." He held up a bag full of his precious angel's dust. "It'll be fifty."

"Here, here!" Arthur dug in the pockets of the jacket that was now far too large on him. "You can even keep the change."

Arthur snatched the bag and threw a ten euro note and a few paper clips at the dealer. He stumbled away, clutching the bag to his chest. Marc stood, bewildered.

"Fucked up bastard. How much I'll bet that this'll be the last time he visits me." Marc shook his head. "Demons are coming to get me… Arthur'll be a dead man soon."

* * *

Arthur stumbled into his empty flat. There was only one chair, he had to sell the rest to buy his favorite thing. He fell into the chair, pulling out the small bag from Marc. He fumbled around, searching for the paper wrappers that the monsters in the chair had eaten.

"There!" He exclaimed, finding the package. "Nice try! You won't be getting them this time." He kicked and punched at the chair.

With shaking hands, Arthur tapped out a small amount of his beloved onto the paper and rolled it up, sealing it with a lick of his tongue.

"Lighter, lighter! Give me light, I need to see. I need to see what the angels have in store for me! Ha ha! It'll be beautiful!" Arthur searched for his lighter, desperate to reach the sweet release his beloved brought him. He flicked the lighter a few times. Nothing. No flame.

"No! No, god no!" Arthur became frantic. He flicked the lighter until his hands went numb. "Come on, dammit!" His fingernails were ragged and bitten down to the cuticle, which were also bleeding from flicking it over and over and over. He felt a rising sense of panic in his chest, consuming him, swallowing him whole. This couldn't possibly be. "What a cruel god you are." He snarled into the ceiling.

It echoed, softly, softly.

He continued to flick the lighter for another ten minutes, until it, along with his hands, his jacket and the ratty chair were splattered with droplets of crimson blood.

Finally, a spark lit and the small tube began to smoke. "Dearest God! Thank you for letting me partake in your world!"

His dark, grey flat became filled with more visions. Ambiguous shapes emerged out of corners, speaking softly, softly. 'Hello Arthur. Come here. Come with us.'

"You've never asked me to come with you before. Do you love me that much?" He asked, the empty flat echoing his scratchy voice. "I won't go. I like it here."

'Why won't you come?' They asked. 'No matter, we'll make you come with us.'

They drifted closer. They snatched his beloved.

"Give that back!" He yelled, glaring at the taunting black figures. They were increasing in number.

'Come and get it yourself, Arthur.' They whispered in unison. Softly, softly.

"Give it back, damn you!" He ran after them, stumbling over the hard tile floor.

They were leading him toward the window. 'Come, Arthur.' The window whispered. They spat flames at him, growing close and closer.

'Come closer Arthur.'

'Arthur, Arthur! Come closer!'

'Yes, Arthur. We want to see you!'

'Arthur.'

'Arthur!'

'We only want to see you!'

'Come closer.'

'Come closer!'

'COME CLOSER!'

"Ahhhh!" His head felt like it was splitting into a thousand pieces. The voices were tearing him apart. This was not heaven, with the heat of a thousand tongues of flame lapping at his ankles and the screams of the damned around him. This was hell, this was not what he wanted.

He screamed, launching himself at the window for his beloved. His hand went through the glass, slicing it to ribbons. But he felt no pain, only the suffering.

Arthur collapsed, the red closing in on him. "Our Father, which art in heaven…" He never prayed, and hadn't recited this since he was a child, but his voice wouldn't stop. "… And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Arthur felt the world fading

"… The power. And the glory. For ever and ever."

For the first time in a long time, he was scared.

"Amen."

And he was gone, the world and the heavens leaving him behind. Alone. In the darkness.

Fading.

Softly, softly.

* * *

The first color he remembers seeing is green. The dark and light green that danced in front of his eyes as the sunlight shone through the canopy of trees above him.

He sat up and was confronted with something that looked and felt familiar, but he couldn't remember seeing it before.

"Hello England!" A small, mint colored bunny flitted around him.

The wind blew in the forest around him.

Softly,

Softly.

* * *

**_Well, chapter one is finished now. Next will be America. I will try to upload that as soon as I can._  
**

**_Feedback is REALLY appreciated guys! Please review and tell me what you think!_**


	2. Alfred- Withering Away

**_All of the characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and the theory was written by deviantart's SailerInfoerno12908, so credit for this sad, but wonderful, theory must be given to them._**

**_The Hetalia Theory speculates that all of the countries once lived as humans, under their human names, and died at their age of something. Based on each nation's characteristics and personality, the cause of death and life differs for each._**

**_ Next is America, known as Alfred F. Jones in his human life. He was a normal teenager who suffered with and later died of anorexia nervosa, explaining his great appetite and love of fatty food. _**

* * *

Although he tended to not pay much mind to a lot of things in his life, there was one part of his life Alfred payed special attention to; his parents remaining in the dark. If they somehow found out that he had slowly but surely starving himself, god knows what they'd do to him. A therapist every day for months or worse, they might send him to some psych ward in the middle of the country where nutrients would be practically forced down his throat. This left him with only one possibility; they _really_ couldn't know.

At first, it was simple enough for Alfred to hide it. An extra undershirt beneath his clothes and bam! He looked perfectly normal. But now, since he had dropped so much weight, it was far harder to hide it like he used to. Baggy long-sleeved shirts and sweatshirts became a frequent wardrobe choice. He was quite afraid that it wouldn't be long before someone noticed.

For the first time in what seemed like months, his parents would both be home tonight, and he couldn't be around them that long. And, as he'd just discovered, he couldn't stay in his room. A couple of minute ago, his mother had called out from the kitchen, asking him what he wanted for dinner. Alfred couldn't eat dinner. Dinner was only water for him now. So was breakfast, lunch, or any other occasion to eat. So, Alfred saw only one way to get out of it.

He hauled himself off of his bed and threw on more of the loose-fitting clothes he owed his secrecy too, and left his room.

"Hey, mom?" He peaked his head through the kitchen door. "I forgot that I, uh, said I'd go to Kiku's house to… play a game with him."

"Do you have to go? We're just about to eat together for the first time in months…" She turned around to face him, holding a dish of what smelled like chicken.

Oh god… he suddenly felt _very_ hungry. He had to get out of there. "Yeah, but it's the beta release of a really popular game, and they released like one hundred copies of it or something."

"Oh, well that's a shame. Tell Mrs. Honda I said hello then." She looked dejected and, for a moment, Alfred felt terribly guilty. But his desperation to get away from food won out over the guilt. "Oh! Won't you be warm in all of those layers?"

_Shit. Okay, think Alfred, think._ "Nah, you know how cold Kiku keeps his house. I'll be fine. And I'll tell Mrs. Honda hello for you. Bye mom, dad!" He said as he closed the front door behind him.

Alfred was quite relieved to be out of there, especially after the clothing question was fired at him. Now that he was out, he didn't really know where to go though. Kiku's house was out of the question; they were visiting family in Tokyo this week, so they weren't home. He thought about maybe visiting an old friend of his, Natalia, but then he remembered how much she loved to give hugs, and immediately vetoed the idea. He went through a list of friends in his head, but realized that they were either busy, they liked hugs or they weren't close enough to him for Alfred to randomly drop by at 8:30 on a Thursday night.

So he decided to walk downtown. He lived in a small town in Virginia, complete with a fit-for-the-movies main street, homey atmosphere and cheap little shops. He could waste a few hours walking in and out of stores and around the few small blocks. By the time he would be done, his parents would be finished with dinner and probably in bed because they had another early flight out to work tomorrow.

When he reached the main street, it was decorated with the cheesy American flag decorations and red, blue and white streamers winding their way around lampposts that signified only one thing. The Fourth of July was tomorrow, and there would be a small parade, which for some reason always calls for the worst looking decorations in all of the state, if not in all of the country. But, despite the fact that they oozed cheap, he liked them nonetheless. It was nice to see that people still cared about the country, even though it wasn't in the best state right now.

Save for the decorations and a few other people, Alfred was pretty much alone as he walked down the paved street. Walking across from him in the opposite direction was some middle-aged woman that he vaguely recognized, but he couldn't place. She toted along a young daughter, maybe around six or seven years of age, with frizzy blonde hair, a beaming smile and bright eyes. Her enthusiasm and innocence almost reminded Alfred of himself as a child, so oblivious to the harsh reality that this world thrust upon your shoulders once your mind was mature enough to even begin to grasp it. Free of insecurity and self-doubt.

Alfred laughed quietly to himself. _Oh, how age changes us. _He was sounding like some old man who bequeathed wisdom gained over a long life of hardships to his grandchildren. And yet, he wasn't even quite an adult yet.

He meandered down the street for quite some time, passing a small general store, a couple of clothing boutiques, the police department and even the movie theater. He observed them through their windows, admiring how the clothing was hung and folded in neat, precise rows. He liked to think about how someone cared enough about patterned dresses and pressed slacks to take such care, to think that those clothes were someone's passion.

Alfred didn't really have any passions, other than keeping food at a distance. He used to love model airplanes, but somewhere in the past messed-up year, he had lost that hobby for some reason. Before the planes, it was video games, but those lost appeal too. Even football, one of his favorite sports, seemed dull to him after a while. Most things seemed uninteresting to him these days. It was as if the lack of nutrients was finally getting to his brain.

He stopped outside of a small shop at the end of the street. It was one he knew well. The shop, which sold everything from baseball caps to homemade preserves to nails, was something he and his father used to frequent when he was younger and his dad was still around. Struck by memories, he pulled open the glass door, the bell tingling as he did, and stepped inside the cool, dry store.

As soon as he did, he was overcome with nostalgia. He remembered the happy days, when his parents' marriage wasn't troubled and Alfred wasn't starving himself. When he passed through the doorframe, he was also hit was something else; the smell of fresh-baked fudge. It made his mouth water to a ridiculous extent and his stomach gnaw at itself in a desperate attempt to get him to eat.

_Shit._

As soon as thoughts of fleeing to the scent-devoid street, a sweet old woman named Magdala popped her gray-capped head above the counter. "Well, hello there!" She was always cheery, Magdala. She had been since he was a child. "It's been a while since I've seen you, Alfred. My, how you've grown."

She was right about that. He was now about 5'10'', and towered over her less-than-five-foot figure. But he'd pretty much shrunk everywhere else. "Yeah, it's been a while." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. _Please don't offer me anything. Please, Magdala._

"I was wondering if you would try some of the fudge I just made. Everyone else in town is at home, and I don't want to serve it to my customer's tomorrow without a taste-tester's approval."

"Oh, Magdala, I think I'll pass. I'm not really hungry." _Oh god._

"Come now, Alfred. It's just a bite. You used to love my fudge when you were little." She was right, and his mouth was assaulted with memories of the taste.

"Well… I…" He trailed off. He couldn't do this. Fudge would never fly. Apples; sure. Oranges; why the hell not. But fudge? It was fatty and full of calories.

"Please dear?" That damn sweet face of hers could make Jack Frost himself melt into a puddle.

"Fine." His heartbeat picked up. "But just a little piece."

Unfortunately, Magdala's definition of 'a little piece' was very different from his. He stared at the piece of peanut butter and vanilla fudge in his hand, her signature, and painfully shoved the thing in his mouth.

Even though he wasn't supposed to be eating it, good god was it good. "It's great, Magdala. Really, it is. But I have to go now."

"Oh, alright, Alfred. I'll see you tomorrow then!" She called, smiling her old granny smile. "At the parade!"

"Yeah, sure." He responded.

Alfred rushed out onto the street, now empty, and hurried through the flickering light of the old lampposts. He didn't typically resort to bulimic habits, but he needed to get rid of what he just ate. He stumbled into one of the small, dark side alleys in between The Sunny Side Up Diner and the town hall, which was really just a tiny office space.

He took a deep breath and jammed two of his fingers down his throat, waiting until his gag reflex kicked in. When it did, he hunched over, bringing up sour-tasting bile. But there was something else too. He looked down. Splattered on the pavement was, in the poor light of early night, a black liquid. In his mouth remained a metallic tint. Blood.

_Oh god. _He suddenly didn't feel well. His stomach began doing somersaults and forcing more of the dark substance out of him. His vision began blurring and he felt light-headed. He grasped the edge of the stone wall, trying to stand, but ultimately fell to the cement ground.

With his back resting against the wall, he struggled for breath, attempting to force oxygen into his spastic lungs. It wasn't working and the feeling was terrifying. More terrifying than his first time on a roller coaster, more terrifying than the first time his mother had slapped, more fear-inducing than when his father came home drunk. It was even worse than the absolute alarm he experienced when he was forced to eat.

The panic rising in his chest, threatening to consume him, couldn't be stopped this time and he felt his mind get lost in the tidal surge. He was withering away in it. He felt week too, helpless to whatever this was. But despite the turmoil he was experiencing, he managed to feel sleepy.

He was so, so sleepy.

* * *

America's eyes opened wide, taking in the vast blue skies above him. He was instantly awake. After all, who needed sleep anyway? He jolted up, hearing his stomach grumble to protest not having a meal in a couple of hours.

"Hey, Mr. Buffalo?" He called out, a big furry beast making its way over to him. "Let's go get breakfast, huh? I'm starving!"

* * *

**I apologize for taking so long to release this chapter. I was in a bad car accident and, since I had some head trauma, couldn't use the computer for a long time. Also, this chapter was hard for me to write since I used to struggle with anorexia. Anyway, I would really appreciate reviews! Next up is France, with a rather tragic story.**


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